


Call and Response, Or Why Rodolphus Lestrange Is in Blaise Zabini's Bed Every Night Instead of His Wife’s

by Elfflame



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: daily_deviant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-13
Updated: 2009-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 07:30:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfflame/pseuds/Elfflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaise has a lover.  Others don’t approve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call and Response, Or Why Rodolphus Lestrange Is in Blaise Zabini's Bed Every Night Instead of His Wife’s

**Author's Note:**

> A little nothing that made me feel better for writing. Huge thanks and love to Kit, who inspired this, and whose enjoyment of this piece made it worth writing. And thank you to Snapelike for the quick beta.

I know that Draco thinks I'm insane for what I want. He often tells me that if my mother knew that the time I spent at the Manor had more to do with his uncle Rodolphus than the Dark Lord, that she would yank me out of here faster than a Mudblood could pronounce my name. I think my mother can go to hell. It's not like I'm anything more than a tool or a plaything for her anyway. And not in the good way, like with Rodolphus. Let her seduce her next husband on her own. If she can. I know who I want.

Even with Draco's own obsession with Headmaster Snape, he still could not possibly understand. Nor am I about to enlighten him. Though he has been through a lot in the last year, there still are some things he doesn't know. Some things he can't know, and that I hope he never understands. For me, when I am with Rodolphus, all my knowledge of those things I never wanted to know goes away. I am as innocent as Draco is of them.

When I hear his footsteps outside my door at night, my heartbeat speeds up. My skin prickles as I wait for him to touch me. Even just the sound of his voice, steel covered velvet, can make me shiver.

"Blaise."

"Sir?"

He is rarely gentle with me, taking everything he wants and wringing me dry, but when he is gentle…he makes me ever more his. Even when he is not, it is different from the others who used me before. He does not ask if he may, but then, he does not need to. I would not want him to. If he did, he would not be my Rodolphus.

Then again, he is my Rodolphus only at night. During the day, I have to keep my distance from him. In the light, I am just Draco's friend, there to keep him company in a house full of Death Eaters. It is a role I am used to, and even grateful for, given that it provides me with an excuse to be here.

But even when I stay away from him, the others glare. At him, for wanting me. For taking me. At me, for allowing him to take what he wants. For wanting him to do it. Still, they are all purebloods, so this is not something to be spoken of in polite company. After all, it is not unheard of. Sometimes it is almost common. But never is it something to talk about, and most certainly not in the company of ladies. Least of all his wife.

No one would dare to mention the fact that Rodolphus Lestrange would rather bury his cock in my arse than in his own wife's shriveled cunt. Nor would they ever suggest to her that my beauty outshines hers by far.

Thankfully, her fanaticism to her Lord leaves her blind to her husband's doings. Especially at night. I would not want her to know. Likely she would hex me on the spot if she knew. Or worse. So I am very lucky she does not.

And even luckier to have him in my bed.

"Suck."

The word never fails to make me shiver.

"Happily."

His nails cut into my back when I suck him, and his fingers tangle in my hair to pull at it harshly, thrusting into my throat as I lick and suck and swallow around him. His rumbling groans sounding like sharp cries to my ears, egging me to use every bit of my skills, moving over him faster until he can stand it no longer and pulls me off him.

His cock is glistening, hard and purple and ready for me. He pushes me to my back, capturing my lips in a fierce kiss. My knees are pushed hard against my chest, and a whispered spell is the only preparation before he thrusts into me, stifling my cry with his mouth on mine. Or sometimes, he shoves me to my hands and knees right there on the carpet where I already kneel, his fingers twining even tighter in my hair as he thrusts home, my neck arching as I gasp at being filled.

I have never felt so complete as when he claims me; when he is so deep inside I can't imagine anyone else there. I was made to fit him. Our cries mingle, unheard by the others, and we are alone together; nothing can separate us. His thrusts fill me again and again, and make me blind and deaf to anything else but him. It is only when I am sure that I can hold back no longer that I finally beg him.

"Please…"

And it is only when he hears the word that he wraps his hand around my cock, stroking me in time with his thrusts, his lips brushing my ear, the whispered word a benediction to my tarnished soul.

"Come."

And I do. Only with him does the world fade white around me, and each time, I am sure this time will be the last. That my spirit will float free of my body, and I will just keep flying up and away to join the stars in the heavens. Then I feel him. Feel his thrusts increase as he draws me back. Even as I clench around him once more, his own climax follows mine. His body is a welcome weight atop me after, and I cling to him for the few moments when he is totally and completely mine. Before he has to slip away to her bed once more, still smelling of me, and of the sex we have shared.

In the morning, it is as though nothing has happened. I am the proper pureblood boy, and he is the passionate Death Eater once more. But I know it happened. And in the evening, I know it will happen again. I never feel so wanted as when he looks at me over the supper table with those burning eyes that say he will claim me all over again tonight.

"Mine."

And I only ever have one answer for him.

"Yes."


End file.
